


Tapestry From an Asteroid

by cembular



Series: Unforgettable [2]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Character Study, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Healing, M/M, Memories, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rape/Non-con Elements, Repressed Memories, Romance, memoriesofrape, nononcon, norapescenes, spirk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 11:57:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12131985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cembular/pseuds/cembular
Summary: The story of Unforgettable continues as Jim, Spock and Bones deal with the aftermath of what took place on the ship when Sovik was alive. It's a story of forgiveness, truth, and hard decisions. Will Spock, Jim and Bones be able to pick up the pieces of Spock's torment? Will Spock ever return to his solidarity as a true, emotionless Vulcan after what happened? Will Jim ever forgive himself and lead Spock to a brighter path? Is Sovik really dead?Unforgettable: Act II





	Tapestry From an Asteroid

**Author's Note:**

> To those who choose to read,
> 
> Thank you for reading this chapter, I appreciate it. If you choose not to, that's alright too. It has been a while since Unforgettable was finished, and I feel guilty for making people wait for closure on the story. I had written the first part so that it could end there just in case people would not wait around for the second half. A lot has happened in my life since I finished Part 1, and I am not sure how speedy my writing process will be, but I keep my promises and I want to finish this story for the sake of finishing this story. 
> 
> Any ways. This chapter is probably shot, as it has not been edited by anyone other than me, and I have a hard time editing work. I had wrote this chapter a while ago but neglected to post it for various reasons. However, the journey to finish this story will be one I will be doing on my own, and if anybody finds any mistakes on the way, I am inviting discussion on it. So feel free to message me on tumblr or through the comment section if you would like. 
> 
> This story will likely be a long one, but I do not think it will be as long as the first part. THIS STORY WILL NOT be one that glorifies violence or sexual assault, but will discuss it in length, not to be fetishized but to be recognized. I do not glorify or condone any of these subjects but as a victim of sexual assault I think it is important to discuss some of the themes that are involved in the aftermath. There is a story after the trauma. The people involved aren't objects or toys, they are people at the end of the day. 
> 
> So please do not read if you are awaiting rape scenes or anything of that manner. 
> 
> Also if you are picking this story up for the first time, then welcome BUT in order to read this story you will need a summary of what happened in unforgettable, so please stay tuned as I will be linking that information in the next chapter. 
> 
> Anyways, my author notes will be brief from this time out I just wanted to get the chatty introduction out of the way. 
> 
> <3 so Please enjoy Tapestry from an Asteroid: Unforgettable Act II !

**Hard to remember**

**Impossible to forget**

 

Spock stood alone, darkness filling the space around him. His eyes peered across toward the nothingness in front of him, his thoughts trying to make something of the abyss that surrounded him.

There was nothing to fear but fear itself. Fear was a product of irrational emotions, to have it develop from something as frivolous and natural as the absence of light was … _illogical_.

And yet, dark spaces had a habit of causing distress from Spock’s experiences. It had a way of deceiving individuals and spawning horrible fates from its shadows. It was indeed illogical.

He cleared his mind, trying to utilize the darkness in front of him as a canvas for thoughts. Slowly, but with certainty, he raised his hand upward, a neon white light covering his palm and fingers, and he began to leave strings of light across the space as he moved his fingers across it. Soon enough the darkness before him began to light up with math equations.

Seeing the numerics before him was indeed comforting, it was almost like a saying he had heard the captain use on occasion when landing missions had low probability of success;

“ _There’s always sunshine behind the clouds, Spock.”_

It was not so illogical as Spock had assumed at first. The sun did in fact remain in the sky when weather conditions permitted the clouds to fog over its existence or not. What had perplexed Spock for some time was how the presence of the sun should at all correlate with a decrease in feelings of hopelessness such as this.  

However, the answers were written clear as day before him. It was as though his fingers had scratched away the darkness, as though there was indeed light behind it. The dark was not so abysmal as he had once thought, and the presence of light against his cold skin was rewarding and comforting.

His eyes dropped to his palm, a bright white shade of light surrounding it.

Perhaps it there wasn’t light behind the dark at all, or sunshine behind the clouds. Perhaps the light that was know glowing around him was something from inside. Could it have been a shining light from deep inside himself in a dark and dreary world?

 _‘It does not matter’_. He told himself clasping his hands behind him in a dignified manner. “ _It does not matter”._

To have such hopefulness within himself would mean reminding himself of the torment he had fallen victim of in recent times. It would mean reminding himself over and over again of the pain and misery, the pure vile emotion that had followed the interaction with Sovik. The painful reminder that he was indeed _half_ _human_.

He shivered at the thought of this, wrapping his hands around his arms and holding tightly. Suddenly, he felt the robes dressing him becoming extremely thin, and as he shook, it brought back the memories of what the darkness had done to him only days ago.

_“Has the captain ever touched you like this? Has the captain ever kissed you like I have? He’s always wanted to I’m sure, and I cannot blame him for wanting such hideous perfection.”_

_“I will assist you, but not in this fashion,”_

_“You are a half-breed mutt. It would be selfish of you to engage with humans, and you will never find a Vulcan who is willing to carry your burdens with them.”_

_“But you have me.”_

“ ** _Stop._** ”

For a moment, Spock could almost feel his bed beneath him again. Springs softly creaking as the mattress dipped on one side and soon enough large hands had him pinned to the imaginary mattress violently. He knew these hands well. They had been the hands that had been the first to touch him, first to claim him, and the first to completely torment him in ways he never knew possible.

They had been the hands that had caused Spock to distrust the darkness around him, the ones that he felt existed deep inside himself.

Spock felt a presence ghosting over him, as though Sovik had once again crawled ontop of him like a wild animal, his hands beating down on his weak and wounded body.

_“More deeper, harder, faster. Spock. Spock. Nothing but you, Spock. Forever.”_

It was strange how accurate Sovik’s mental impulses were against his own mind. Spock felt concerned for a moment that he had never woken up in sickbay at all, that he was still resting in his coma. Perhaps everything he had known to happen after Sovik’s death was just a mirage, a figment of his own imagination.

Perhaps Sovik really was there with him now, mind to mind. Body to body.

It felt so _real_. His mind as though it were melded to him, his voice deep into his consciousness like he had experienced during Sovik’s death. When Sovik had whispered to him and told him secrets.

“Spock, I desire you.” The voice was low, grunting as Sovik’s body grinded against his body. Spock closed his eyes tightly, trying hard to ignore the damning presence of Sovik’s bond woven deep into his own mind.

But Sovik’s death felt so real. They had melded before he departed. Spock remembered it all so well, the burning hot temperature, the crumbling vision of Vulcan, and Sovik calm and collected as he accepted death. Spock could not understand it, how was it that Sovik was still here, in his mind?

 _“Get off.”_ Spock managed to say, attempting to push Sovik away, or what he felt to be Sovik’s body. There was a sense of urgency in his movements, however, he pushed slowly. “ _I do not want this.”_

The space around him was dark, the numerics he had written into the abyss were faded, only looking like distant stars now as the black figure above him moved. Spock felt nausea building and his head spun unpleasantly.

 _“It’s alright._ ” The voice cooed, and suddenly as Spock reached up toward Sovik’s face, he realized he had been horrifically mistaken as Jim peered back at him…

 

Spock’s eyes opened so fast, bringing himself out of the strange meditative state he had been in. He fell back against his meditation stone, fumbling onto his side where he accidently teetered the stand that had been holding his tea. The old Vulcan styled cup wobbled a moment, only to tumble ungracefully onto the ground shattering into hundreds of tiny shards.

Luckily, the sound of breaking glass had woken him up enough to catch the second stand with candles, knowing that if something were to touch the flame, it could be far more disastrous than the glass that surrounded him.

His breath was heavy, his eyes wide as he watched the flames on the candles around him dance wildly from the sudden movement in the room. ‘ _So symbolic’_ he thought to himself before righting himself on the stone. _‘So deceivingly symbolic.’_

Spock tried to catch his breath, but the image of Jim on top of him in such a way was far too distressing to comprehend. Jim would never hurt him like that, he would never act in such a vile manner. Jim was, for a lack of a better word, a hero. Brave, caring, thoughtful, and selfless. Above all, Spock was convinced that there was no one in the entire galaxy who cared as much about him or accepted him as much as Jim did.

And yet, there was always doubt. There had been a time when Spock could meditate in darkness, or close his eyes and sleep peacefully. Those were things he had once been able to do without question and yet he could not manage these activities anymore, not without closing his eyes and reminding himself that evil things could pop out from the shadows. He had to have his guard up in order to protect himself.

Suddenly, there was a mental backlash, and pain enveloped his mind from such a powerfully negative state of meditation. He knew it had been coming, and yet he still was not prepared for it.

He lifted himself from his stone, and wobbled a few steps forward until he felt a pinch beneath his foot.

Spock sighed, clenching his jaw from the pain the glass inflicted on his foot and the throbbing in his head. He balled his hands into fists and slowly took a step back. Once again he had heard the sound of the glass falling and breaking, yet did nothing to prepare himself.

A knock echoed through the room causing Spock’s heart to beat faster in his side. He looked down at the glass covering the floor and wondered if it would be best to pretend that he was not in the room at all so that whoever it was who was attempting to gain access would leave him be.

“Spock?” It sounded like Jim, and for a mere moment, the idea of Jim seeing him like this terrified Spock beyond logical reason. “Spock are you alright?”

Spock cleared his throat, feeling his mind numb finally from the pain. However, there was something far more alarming than the shocking pain that had crashed against his mind moments ago, suddenly there was a deep buzzing sensation laced along the intricate neural pathways of his consciousness. He raised his hand, fingers reaching for his meld points before he heard another heavy bang on the door.

“Spock?” Jim’s voice had grown more concerned.

“Yes.” Spock finally replied, his mind trying to multi-task between Jim’s presence and the phantom one in his mind.

It felt as though a nest of wasps had awoken in his temporal lobe, stinging and gathering angrily together. He could not place his finger on what had caused it or where it truly emanate from, but as Jim opened the doors and entered, he felt the sensation move further toward the back of his head, remaining there quietly.

“Spock, are you okay, I heard…” Jim panicked, finally reaching Spock and noticing the broken glass shattered from wall to wall. In the center of the mess was a splatter of vulcan herb tea, Jim must have known this as he had prepared the cup for Spock on many occasions during their visits together for chess.

At times Jim had even prepared a meal for Spock during their visit. Jim always got this illogical sense of pride and happiness for providing Spock with things. Gifts like the set of chess pieces he had engraved for him, or the ring strung onto the tricorder strap that Jim had tried to give him. Spock still did not understand these gifts fully, but accepted them only for the rewarding way Jim smiled at him in return.

“Did this fall?” Jim asked, noticing the toppled over stand next to Spock’s stone, Jim’s eyes travelled over it, back to the mess, and then finally met Spock’s eyes.

“I apologize.” Spock sighed, his voice weak and quiet. He could feel his heart slamming in his side almost painfully. There had been so much going on within these moments, he couldn’t manage to focus his mind. Not like he had once been able to do weeks before. At one time he was able to split his mind between computations, conversation, and physical health all at once just as other full bread Vulcans could. Now he struggled to find enough brainpower to carry a measly conversation.

“No no,” Jim assured, stepping over the glass allowing it to crunch under his dark leather boots. “Here let me help you with this,” Jim returned the stand to its proper location. “I’ll call for someone to come with a vacuum for all this.

“Please do not.” Spock whispered, “I have made the mess, and I intend on cleaning it.”

Jim turned away from the comm unit and faced Spock, his brows shifting into a more apologetic look, one Spock hated to see on his captain. “With what Spock? Your hands?”

Spock sighed, ignoring Jim’s attempt to help in favour of taking the small chip of glass from his heel. A bead of green, emerald blood began to seep to the surface.

“You cut yourself on a piece,” Jim spoke with sympathy, taking another few steps forward, hand reaching out to him in an attempt to help him.

“No.” Spock said shortly, moving over slightly to stop Jim’s advance. He could feel Jim’s movements halt, and for a moment Spock felt guilt at having denied his captain, and most importantly his friend. He knew Jim meant nothing but good, and he knew that just as those gifts had served some illogical emotional need, he knew that helping like this would grant him the same amount of pleasure if not more.

But Spock was not ready to grant him that pleasure. Not so soon after he had just experienced that vision he had moments ago.

Jim did not reply, instead stood there for a moment just watching Spock. However, Spock lowered his own gaze, avoiding Jim’s at all cost. It would be far too dangerous to look at Jim like this.

Finally, the sound of glass crunching beneath perfectly polished boots were heard and when Spock lifted his chin again, he could see Jim engage the comm unit again, ordering a vacuum to Spock’s quarters. A green blush stained Spock’s cheeks.

Jim tried to hide his face in his arm as he yawned. He spun on his heels, looking at Spock with a tender smile. “It’s alright Spock, this way it’ll be cleaned faster and then you can get some sleep.”

Spock didn’t feel the need to respond.

“Were you meditating just now?” Jim asked, his hands finding their way into his pockets. Clearly, Jim had been avoiding the obvious question of how the tea cup had been broken. Spock felt grateful for Jim’s consideration.

“I attempted.” Spock replied quietly, looking up at Jim.

Jim softly bit down on his bottom lip, a guilty expression covering his face as he took a slow step toward Spock, like approaching a frightened kitten.

“Unsuccessful again?” Jim questioned softly, finally getting close enough to Spock to sit down next to him on the upper level where his meditation stone sat.

Again, silence filled the room following Jim’s attempt at conversation, and Spock brought his feet closer to his body, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at the tiny diamond like shards on the ground.

As Spock considered his dream, and considered the illogical way he had reacted to the way Jim had only wished to help, Spock felt himself fighting for more control. He needed it if he was ever going to be Jim’s competent first officer again.

“I am alright Jim.” He replied finally, almost convincing himself.  Their eyes met for a few short moments before Spock looked away.

He could feel Jim shift, the desire to draw closer was there but Jim held back. Spock felt a sense of frustration inside for being the source of such discomfort and negativity. He hated causing others to feel any sort of sense of pity or hardship just because Spock couldn’t control himself or forget the past.

 _Forget the past_. Spock told himself. If remembering the past was such a difficult process than perhaps forgetting it all would be the most beneficial. Nothing from the experience was worth keeping in mind, and if there was any way Spock was going to become this competent first officer as well as someone who was not a pain to get along with, he would have to forget. Forget everything. Forget it all.

Forget.

Jim stayed quiet with Spock, his eyes looking at the tiny pieces as well. Spock pursed his lips together uncomfortably and tried to avoid the image of Jim looking so concerned as he looked at the pieces.

Suddenly there was a signal at the door and as Spock began to stand, Jim shot up before him, and motioned for him to remain sitting. Though Spock detested the idea of sitting back all the time, Spock truly did not wish to let the Ensign in for cleaning.

There was a distant discussion as Jim let the ensign in. He could hear faintly Jim saying, ‘ _I accidently broke a mug’._ Spock’s stomach began to turn at the thought of Jim’s lie.

Jim entered the room the Ensign following behind. Spock stood professionally, watching the Ensign begin to clear the mess, until Spock’s attention moved back to Jim who was looking back at him.

The noise of the vacuum was very calming for Spock. It’s quiet humm was a delightful contrast to the buzzing sensation in his head. He tilted his head at the small device collecting the glass pieces.

After the Ensign had finished, he nodded to both the Captain and Spock formally, nervousness clear across his face during the entire duration of his stay. Being in the presence of both Spock and Captain Kirk was a dreadful thing for some crewmembers. They were the ones in charge and to some, it meant illogical reactions.

“Thank you,” Jim smiled, walking the young man out. Spock took a step onto the cleared floor. His bare foot touched the cold ground and his eyes looked down at his plain black meditation robe, much different from the one Sovik had destroyed and remained in the hamper unwashed.

Spock stood there deep in thought, his eyes running to the hamper where a piece of Sovik still remained in the form of white splatters on his clothes. Spock shivered slightly and continued to walk into the other section of his quarters where Jim stood.

Jim yawned, thinking no one was around to see it. He smiled at Spock gently before crossing his arms over his chest, a position Spock had learned was a stance that deflected attention away from people.

“I am going to attempt to rest.” Spock whispered, watching Jim intensely as he slowly brought his hands behind his back.

Jim nodded, a small look of relief beneath the surface. “That’s good.”

There was an awkward pause of silence as Spock watched Jim.

Suddenly it dawned on Jim, “Oh, well, I’ll let you get to it.” He chuckled perhaps out of nervousness or genuine hilarity, but Spock could not tell, he simply followed Jim’s departure with his eyes, wanting to reach for Jim and beg him to stay so that nothing would happen, but wanting nothing more than to be left alone.

He would solve all his problems alone as he had done for years and years.

There was no Jim on Vulcan years ago. No one to hold his hand and walk him through the process of trauma and sexual assault. No one there to understand him and look at him like Jim had and tell him, ‘ _It’s going to be alright’_. There had just been Spock, I’Chaya, and his work.

Spock heard Jim finally leave, and he moved back into the bedroom to a tiny box. Inside the box was the large fang of I’Chaya, the one he had carried with him from Vulcan to Earth and then into the depths of space. He had taken it everywhere with him since his death, and for whatever reason it had been a comfort.

Nobody listened to Spock like I’Chaya had. Ever since Spock was a small toddler, I’Chaya had taken on the role of protecting him at all costs. As Amanda had told him growing up, I’Chaya would stay by his crib until Spock woke up and cried, licking his tiny fingers through the bars until Amanda was there to tend to his needs.

I’Chaya cared, and it was not illogical to say so. I’Chaya saw pointed ears, saw slanted brows and a logical pattern of speech. There was no bigotry to keep I’Chaya from laying in the sun next to Spock or listening to him when he recited poems or certain concepts of science and physics. I’Chaya didn’t care who Spock was only that Spock was there.

Spock clenched the tooth in his hand, remembering all the times he had returned from school or from conversing with peers, and had sat next to I’Chaya fighting back tears. I’Chaya’s nose nuzzling him, and eventually falling asleep with Spock comfortably sitting against him. When life had been too much for Spock to handle and he had decided on acting out, I’Chaya was there with him every step of the way.

In fact, there was one thing Spock remembered most of all. During Spock’s childhood Sarek had been a source of anxiety for him, pressuring him into the Vulcan way, restricting what he could and couldn’t do, and not speaking to Spock for short periods of time if he disappointed him. Spock knew how much Sarek hated Spock leaving the home without permission, and so Spock would often leave the property, and hike the mountains in an act of rebellion. I’Chaya kept him safe, and I’Chaya never told Spock to go back, in fact often times I’Chaya lead the way.

Spock returned the treasure to it’s box and placed it back into the drawer which he had taken it from. He missed the comfort he had found in I’Chaya, so similar to the comfort he found in Jim.

His eyes closed gently, reminiscing of all the good intentions Jim had always had and how he had never been the one to deceive him. Jim would never be the one to hurt him or degrade him like his dream had prophesied.

And yet, there was a sense of discomfort that he carried with him as he thought on it. It felt so real. The mental impulses from Sovik were so strong he couldn’t make sense of them coming from Jim.

As Spock sat on top of his bed he reminded himself that in order to find peace he would have to forget everything he had ever felt regarding his experience with Sovik. He would have to toss those emotions aside and repress and further account. By forgetting, he would hopefully move past the issue without having to recall a single memory or search through the daunting thoughts to achieve closure.

He didn’t want closure, he wanted peace.

Part of that had resulted in his tender moment with Jim the previous evening. A moment that had confessions following a brief, but comforting press of their lips. To call it a kiss would be inaccurate, but not entirely wrong. It felt as though it had meant far more than just a moment of passion. It was promising, it was comforting and for a moment Spock had in fact forgot all about Sovik and felt almost as though he was worth a second chance.

But it had been selfish, it had been entirely selfish to believe that he should tease Jim like that for his own comfort. He knew that Jim’s affection for him was real, he had admitted to such multiple times, had shown Spock in many ways for many years. Still, Spock believed Jim wasn’t certain of what he was getting himself into, and that Jim would see those ugly parts of Spock’s past and turn away. He would realize that Spock had caused the reaction in Sovik, had been a perpetrator in his own victimization, and from that he could not recover or receive retribution from his captain.

No. Spock didn’t deserve that.

However, Spock could not deny his own illogical feeling for Jim. How _good_ it felt not only to forget about Sovik, but almost pick up from where they had left off before the fire had devoured both Sovik and Spock. Before Spock had lost all respect for himself just as Jim ultimately would also.

The buzzing in Spock’s mind continued again, only this time rather than a swarm of wasps under his skull, it felt like a tingling of shards of glass filling the space between brain and bone, and he brought his hands up to his head to console the pain.

The sounds in his head continued, getting louder and louder until suddenly Spock began to free himself from the clatter and he heard a new sound emanating from the ledge beside the window. It was a sad sound, one that sounded like something of a lost or lonely pigeon.

He knew exactly where the sound was coming from and still he lifted his head from the soft cushions to inspect it. On the ledge he saw the small plant, the Fo-Weinvaksur, twirling its branch in small circles against the glass.

There was no urgency in the plants movements, but as Spock drew himself closer to it, he felt his heart sink further and further into his stomach as he remembered the first time he had seen the plant.

A shady presence filled the room again, and though Spock desperately desired to approach the needy plant, he held himself back, not wanting to remind himself of Sovik. If he was going to forget everything that Sovik had caused, then he would have to make the effort to actually forget.

He left the room. He did not make the attempt to dress himself in uniform, knowing the crew was still not due to return until late the following day. He would have had to reason with himself, but his body and mind were on autopilot only thinking of the bare minimum… _‘Get to the door. Get to the lift. Get to the lab…..’_

Thinking that way seemed to help Spock forget about the discomforting idea of leaving his room in such a way. Without logic, without thought, and with undue emotion. However, even in his shame, he did not have time to dwell on it as long as he stuck to the bare minimum thought.

He accessed the lab, entering the code, and allowing himself into the now brightly lit room. It was much different than the small lab they had loaned the RU-598 crew. Much different from the place Spock had been lured into and left unconscious and abused.

Raped. Raped would be the more accurate term.

Spock lightly shook his head and proceeded to his computer console to forget the ugly terminology. He would not let those thoughts enter here, now when he was such a dedicated man to science.

He found comfort in that thought. Numbers, factors, fractions and equations… they had never deceived him, he had never forgotten them, they _always_ had a solution.

There were always answers, so much different from the world he had grown up in and struggled to exist in today

 

-

 

A loud grunt echoed throughout the gym, the sound echoing off the walls. Jim held the weight where it was above him, feeling the sweat trickle down the side of his face, the muscles in his arms tightening as he held out a little longer.

Then the loud clanking noise of the weight settling back into its holder could be heard and Jim released his breath, looking up to the ceiling and slowly closing his eyes.

As he sat up on the bench he felt a sense of comfort knowing the room was absolutely deserted besides himself. He desperately needed this time to think to himself and exercise both his body and his mind. It would perhaps do him some good to beam down for some actual shore leave, but he couldn’t bare the thought of it.

Last night Jim had a dream he had found quite disturbing. After he returned from the observation deck from his pleasant, comforting evening with Spock he had gone to sleep with a horrifying image in his head. Spock beneath Sovik right before his eyes, and Jim was helpless to stop any of it.

Jim’s hands curled tightly into fists, his nails imprinting themselves on his palms. There was so much concealed rage he had not been able to express this entire journey. So much pent up anger that he had not been able to release. So much to say to Sovik and never had the chance.

So much he could have done to prevent this all.

It was maddening the guilt he was experiencing, and yet he couldn’t allow for it to affect his professional life, not because it was undeserving of that effort, but it was detrimental to the entire ship. One of his crew members had once told him that the entire crew reflects the mood of their captain. When he is excited, the crew gets excited, when he is angry, the crew in turn becomes angrier. And Jim knew this to be true. He knew the affection his crew had for him, and they made it aware on multiple occasions. He found it quite agreeable considering he too had a lot of admiration for the crew. It was no doubt a two way street.

He couldn’t afford to let his own despair affect the mission. The crew’s safety and happiness depended on him, and Jim took that very seriously.

As Jim stood up he felt infuriated by the dream he had earlier. He might as well have been watching the abuse happen there before him in real life. He hadn’t done anything about the abuse when it had been obviously happening beneath his nose. Jim couldn’t help but feel as though he deserved the dreaded image in his mind now... the one of Spock bound beneath the older Vulcan, completely helpless.

Spock was never meant to be observed in a vulnerable state, and Jim knew this. He knew the immense pride Vulcan’s had for their images. Spock had a thick and impenetrable presence. When they beamed down to undiscovered planets and met with undiscovered civilizations he was stone cold, strong and diamonds, and as complicated as one too.  

Jim’s eyes met with the large, red punching bag at the side of the room. His brows furrowed downward, his fingers curling tightly into fists.

The longer he stared at the leathery sack, the more Jim felt the anger within him burst, and suddenly red faux leather had turned into the face of a Vulcan he had despised for so long.

Without thinking, Jim’s tightly coiled fist, struck the target. The clattering of the chains it hung on was the only thing that could be heard. It felt so good to let out his irritation out this way and suddenly the shaking feeling he had trembling within his gut had transformed into a fire which fuelled Jim into a defensive stance, striking the bag again with the same fist, and then again with the other.

It was an intense workout, one that required his entire body to move. As he moved from side to side, watching the slow swinging motions of his target, he felt a heightened need to bring both hands to the cold material and strangle the image of Sovik.

For a few moments, all Jim saw was red. All he wanted was to continue bashing the punching bag until it was nothing but rubble on the floor, until all his guilt and anger was out in the open, out of the gash that was his heart. He bit his lip, holding back the sounds of grunting and heavy breathing. He didn’t want to bring himself to reality for a moment. Beating in the face that had tormented Spock was freeing for Jim, as though each swing was a new weight lifted off Jim’s back. If he breathed or grunted to loud he risked reminding himself that the punching bag was nothing but plastic, foam, and beads.

The sound of a door opening was not enough to distract Jim as he imagined his knuckles connecting with the bone of Sovik’s jaw, breaking it from the hinge. It wasn’t the aspect of violence that had brought Jim such ecstasy, it had been the release of a hatred that had built up the moment Sovik had stepped off the transporter platform and introduced himself.

The bag clanged on it’s chain from the way Jim had pushed it with his fist. It moved back an forth a few times as Jim settled slightly, feeling the movement of air beside him, informing him of someone else’s presence.

“Jim…” It sounded like McCoy’s voice calling to him from a distance, attempting to make comforting conversation. Jim had no interest in replying and he simply started for the bench at the other side of the room where he kept his water and towel.

McCoy followed Jim, something he expected from the doctor as he wasn’t one to let up on something easily. When McCoy saw something was wrong, or had a task to complete, he committed to it as the loyal man he had always been.

“Jim,” McCoy tried again, standing at his side finally. “Have you spent anytime with Spock today?”

Jim’s eyes fell to the bench in front of him, reminding himself of the sweet image of Spock strumming his lyre by his side on the observation deck. Then his mind darted to the sad image of Spock in his quarters, shaking like a leaf while glass covered the floor. It was so unlike Spock it hurt Jim to recall.

“Yes.” Jim answered in short, taking his bottle of water from its place on the bench. He pressed it to his open lips and took in heavy mouth fulls of water to quickly replenish himself.

“I haven’t seen him since he left sickbay yesterday morning.” McCoy sighed, sounding annoyed however Jim knew that tone was McCoy’s way of showing concern for Spock.

There was no reply. Jim didn’t see a need for one as he took a seat, his towel wrapped around the back of his neck allowing his muscles to feel the throbbing burn from his exercises.

McCoy’s arms crossed over his chest, his right hand subconsciously moving to his lips in thought. “I’m worried, Jim.”

“Why?” Jim asked, his eyes shooting up to McCoy.

“I don’t think Spock is alright.” McCoy replied with a sigh, “And I don’t think you’re alright either I might add.”

Jim let his eyes fall to a spot on the floor and gazed at it as though it were the infinite depths of the space that surrounded his ship. He was unsure what he could say in response to the doctor. What could he say when he was absolutely right.

“Jim, you aren’t so different from Spock.” McCoy said in an almost exhausted and sympathetic way. “You are both stubborn as hell. When will you both come and visit sickbay without me pestering for it?”

It was illogical as some might say, but Jim smiled. He shifted his eyes briefly to the doctor before wiping the sweat with his towel from his forehead. “I’m sure it’ll be somewhere far _far_ down the line.”

“I’m not interested in pestering a dead man.” McCoy scoffed, sharing an awkward chuckle together. Though tensions were high on the Enterprise following Sovik’s death, it was nice that McCoy and Jim could still share in a laugh or two.

Once the moment of humor had passed, Jim dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his forehead from all the tension that existed beneath his fingers. “What a life.”

The doctor took a seat beside Jim, clasping his hands together between his knees. “You can’t blame yourself any more Jim, you --”

“I’m not blaming me, I’m not blaming Spock--”

“You don’t _need_ to blame anyone anymore.” McCoy interrupted. He sighed quietly to himself, refocusing the feelings of frustration. “Jim, Spock doesn’t need sympathy any more than he needs his best friend and partner grieving with him. I think he needs logic in his life now more than ever.”

There was nothing logical about any of what happened, however McCoy was right. Jim had to quell the urge to get back at Sovik, someone who was dead and out of their plain of existence. Maybe in another lifetime there would be time for revenge or an exchange of bitter words, but not in this life-time. Not today.

“We kissed.” Jim whispered through the silence. “I kissed him.”

McCoy smirked his lips. “I thought you two had kissed long ago.”

“No, we kissed after Sovik’s death.” Jim exhaled. “I feel like it was the wrong thing to do considering all the things Spock has been through. I feel like Spock feels pressured by me or upset with me…”

“This is Spock we’re talking about Jim,” McCoy almost laughed, he placed a hand on his shoulder. “Spock thinks the world of you.”

“I’m not doubting that, but after all that trauma how could I let myself become so selfish.” Jim tried to form the words he felt so heavily weighing on his chest. Words he could only feel not verbalize.

“A kiss is a kiss.” McCoy shrugged his shoulders. “What happened to Spock wasn’t sexual nature, it was violent. There’s a difference between being abused and being loved.” McCoy tried to explain lifting his hand from Jim’s shoulder. “Don’t beat yourself up for loving someone Jim.”

McCoy stood from the bench he and Jim shared. “I have results waiting from an autopsy Jim. But I want you to visit me in sickbay, we’ll share a bottle.”

Jim smiled back at McCoy, his heart still feeling heavy with guilt. The anger he had for Sovik was almost equally and strong against himself, but McCoy’s words were right. He had fallen in love, and since when was a victim of sexual assault incapable of being loved?

Spock was loved, in every sense of the word. There was no other way Jim could think to express his love, his acceptance and comfort for Spock other than a kiss. And the proceedings that followed that kiss had warmed Jim’s heart. The way Spock had played his instrument and Jim had sang along. It was truly unforgettable….

Just as the feeling of guilt and the events that had taken place on the Enterprise during those dark times were too unforgettable.

Jim nodded, “We will share a bottle, thanks Bones.”

And as unforgettable as it was, Jim took that moment of silence and solidarity to remind himself of every detail of every moment that had taken place on the ship the previous days. He did not want to forget them. In order to forget those moments he would become less of a human being. He would become less compassionate to the situation. He would look at the world as though it were just.

No, he had to remember every painful moment in order to take triumph in the happy moments. He could not take pride in the moments of success without reminding himself of his failures.

He could not afford to forget.  

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading <3 Live Long and Prosper


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